After a restful evening in Red Bluff, we were awakened about 5:30 A.M. by neighboring guests above us running and jumping across their floor and our ceiling. Then we heard their showers and their packing. And, finally, we went back to sleep as they must have left.

After leftovers for breakfast, packing, and stopping for gas, we were on the road toward Stockton by 10:30. Our friendly Gypsy, or GPS as she is more commonly known, alerted us to the fact that our destination, the Stockton Air Museum, was closed on this day! So we made some last minute adjustments and headed for Old Town Sacramento instead.

Old Town Sacramento was as we remembered it . . . only less so. It seems to have lost some of it’s pioneer flair as so many little shops carried wares from elsewhere in the world. Still, we walked the town in the almost 90 degree heat and marveled at the mixture of “old” and “new” that coexists in the same footprint of the city. Expending a little energy with our walk through the heat, we decided to stop at a German Brew Haus for some lunch. We walked down into the rathskeller, truly an underground arrangement, that was surprisingly devoid of people. I was reminded of my friend who will never stop at a restaurant that has no visible patrons. The thought of German food still called to us, however, so we stayed and ordered. The waitress was less than agreeable, making mistakes with our order – when there was NO ONE else in the place – and proceeded to argued with us about it, then charged us in full after it was corrected. Clearly not the best in customer service. And, decidedly not the best in German cuisine, either. But, it was lunch and we were filled up enough to get back in the car and continue on.

The central area of California is largely agricultural, and that’s basically all we saw: orchards; rice, corn, wheat, beans, and hay fields; as well as a lot of old barns and a few cattle.

Traffic from Sacramento to Modesto was heavy, perhaps because it was late on a Friday afternoon, but then Gypsy informed us there was an accident on South 99 that would prolong our trip by 18 minutes. (And, we all know it usually takes longer.)

We were listening to “Team of Rivals” as we drove; keeping us entertained as we slowed, then sped up, then continued to inch along. Gypsy continued to offer us alternative routes and we took one that had us swing out into the valley east of 99, to be connected back in only a mile from our destination. For that little side trip we got to see a little more local color and more of the interior of the agricultural belt of California.

A room in Medesto awaited us and we welcomed with relief the highly air conditioned lobby! As we checked in we realized we had stayed in this very motel three years before, when we were returning home after our son had been in the hospital in LA after an accident. This little place was a welcome refuge then and feels like a welcome refuge tonight as well. What is it that makes one place seem so welcoming and another place of the very same style and usage, seem cold and unfriendly? Perhaps we could all stand to contemplate how we “welcome” others . . . or not. I know there are times when it has nothing to do with the place; it’s simply me. But, certainly there are other times when the place itself has a personality and is either “welcoming” . . . or not. It makes me want to think about how to make sure my place; my home; my garden; my refuge can be a welcoming spot for all who enter.

A short rest; a trip down the road for a new belt for my driver; and a Carl’s Jr. (unavailable in Seattle) for dinner, completed and filled out the day.

Another traveling day, but one bright with sunshine and puffy, pure white, popcorn clouds, and an eventual temperature of 87 degrees. Phew! That’s warm. I did bring some shorts, but only one pair. Such is the dilemma of traveling anywhere FROM Seattle.

We left Roseburg about 10:30 after a casual morning of not rushing. After stopping for gas and coffee, we took to the mountain roads. At about 4,300 feet of elevation, we passed into the state of California. There were lots of rocks and trees and winding roads – all beautiful in their own way.

A short stop in Yreka found us at the Black Bear Diner for a cup of soup and half a sandwich. It was a perfect pick-me-up for the continuing journey. We had stopped at the same place some time before in our travels, so it was fun to reminisce and recall “When was that?”

By mid afternoon Mount Shasta was looming on the horizon and simply took our breath away. Majestic. Stunning. Powerful. Mt. Shasta. May this picture, on this perfect day, speak all the words that will not come to me at this moment. Truly, a vision of the artwork of our Creator. Grace in blue, gray and white.

We arrived in Red Bluff about 4:00 and packed in for the evening. Well, not quite. We had to go out to test “the best restaurant in Red Bluff,” which is undeniably, Carlitos. Friendly service staff, a laughing and joyous clientele, as well as flavorful, colorful and delicious food sums up the place. We thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere, the food, and ourselves. My driver ordered the braised lamb shank and I don’t think there is another patron who had sucked the lamb shank as clean as he managed to do! I’m sure the lamb would have appreciated how much my driver enjoyed the lamb’s offering.

My evening walk around the small area of the motel ended abruptly when hordes of mosquitoes decided to join me. I was, however, able to enjoy a beautiful California Valley sunset before that happened. Just another example of grace, and the painter’s pallet of our Creator.

There is nothing like just hopping in the car for a road trip. Yes, this was planned . . . we’ve been thinking about it for months. But, still, there was something spontaneous about it. In a matter of hours we managed to pack; clean out the fridge; load the car and set out.

The day was beautiful, a sunny 63 degrees for the 6th of June and we were ripping away from the house at the amazing hour of 9:30 AM, after taking a photo of our wonderful wildflower and tree trunk garden. Just to commemorate the day.

Our destination for the day took us through the car wash; Starbucks; downtown Seattle; Tacoma; and skirting Portland to stop in Gresham, OR. I was looking forward to a visit to The Shoe Mill in Gresham because they happen to carry the kind of shoes that are necessary for my aging feet these days. Two pair walked out with me and we happily walked across the parking lot for a quick burger at Red Robin before saddling up again to continue our journey.

The Oregon landscape flows from the Columbia River, past volcanic and snow topped mountains, to lush tree lined rolling hills, and the verdant Willamette Valley. Oregon is beautiful and we enjoyed seeing ships along the river as well as farmers bailing their fresh cut hay. There were stunning coral roses that greeted us at a rest stop, reviving our tired eyes as we rested from the road for a comfort stop. As the road began to incline into the mountains, we found our destination for the day, a Quality Inn in Roseburg, Or. After six hours of driving, we were more than ready to rest.

We walked two blocks away to the Wagon Wheel Restaurant, which the motel clerk recommended. It was excellent and we only wished we had made the decision to split a meal. Instead, we ordered two entrees and have more than enough leftover for breakfast.

I took my walk around the complex and prayed in thanksgiving for the opportunity to simply “steal away” when the mood hits us. We are adventurers at heart and tomorrow is another day.

One of the most rewarding byproducts of going on a long and exciting journey is the joyous feeling of returning home. We left Spokane amid morning fog and 41 degrees with the relief of knowing tonight we would be sleeping in our own bed.

As we reached the Columbia River, just past George, we could see Mount Rainier rising over the landscape. The city looked wonderful as we came over the mountains. All the trees were beautiful reds, yellows and oranges, like we rarely see this late in October.

There was a feeling of comfort and familiarity as we pulled up in front of our little home. Filled with memories, stories, mementos and files and files of pictures, we ended our 9,559 mile trip by opening the doors and windows of the house to let in the unseasonably warm afternoon. It was a bright, sunny and 64 in Seattle. Now begins the work of unpacking, washing, and getting back into a routine.

Yes, the trip was wonderful in every way, and all of it was worth more than can be expressed, especially the part where we return safely to our comfortable little home.

The penultimate day of our epic journey started early with a beautiful Montana morning. It was chilly, but somehow it didn’t feel quite as cold as yesterday morning. The entire day was nothing but driving and beautiful scenery. Eventually, we left the open range; saw the Rockies in the distance; approached the Rockies; crossed the Rockies; and came down the other side to find ourselves in Washington State once again.

As we reached the mountains, the Western Larch (or Tamarack) trees were in their golden splendor. I had never seen a larch tree in the Fall before, and they are stunning.

We finished listening to “Truman,” and in the aftermath, we did a lot of reflecting – about this trip; our lives; the choices we’ve made; the opportunities we’ve had; the struggles we’ve overcome, etc. etc.

When we reached Missoula, MT about 2:00 p.m. we knew we should find some sustenance or we might be sorry. Right along the interstate we stumbled upon “Sean Kelly’s Stone of Accord.” It was an Irish pub, with traditional Irish fare. My driver ordered “Stovie” which is like a dish familiar in our family as “roadkill,” a stir fry of just about everything in the kitchen. He loved it. I ordered “Beef pasties with champs,” a kind of hand-held pot pie with Irish mashed potatoes and chives; Guinness gravy on the side. Both were delicious and a very memorable lunch for our second-last day of travel. We love finding the local color and experimenting with tasting new and different menu items. This one will be memorable.

Back to driving and reflecting. After seeing so many new places and visiting with family from several branches of our family trees along this journey, we could not help but be self-reflective. We thought a lot about how a journey of this magnitude takes us away from all that is familiar and helps us to appreciate what we know and recognize as “home;” where we’ve come from and who we’ve become; who has loved and encouraged us in the process; and who we have given life to and loved along the way.

Engaging with and visiting with so many different people in so many different places throughout the country (and Canada) has given us a new appreciation for the wonderful, thoughtful, kind, and considerate men our children have become. We are proud of the choices they have made; the gifts they have fostered and honed; the sensibilities they profess; the values they uphold; and the commitments they have made. Every single person is unique and each a miracle of wonder, but we are especially proud and love the wonder that each of our sons has become. There is no greater grace in this world than seeing our sons be thoughtful, creative, energetic, productive and loving young men.

Sometimes it’s difficult to remember, but a journey like this helps us recall that every moment of every experience has influenced us in one way or another. Yet, we can never deny where we have come from. We can, however, grow and change because of what we have seen, learned, and experienced. Using what we have known and where we have come from as a foundation of strength to build on, we can use new information to make sound and loving choices for the future. Nothing is insignificant. There is grace in every detail.

So, embrace the journey; whether it be a single step, or 49 days of wandering the country. Be observant; be compassionate; be loving; be open to new and unusual experiences. Never be afraid to be exactly who you are; and never be afraid to change and grow as a result of all you have seen and experienced.

This morning it was partly sunny and a brisk 36 degrees – definitely winter, I think. We had the car packed and were on the road by 8:45. Pretty good after having a play day yesterday.

The Black Hills of South Dakota gave way to the open ranch lands of Wyoming which slowly wrinkled into the foothills of the Rocky Mountains in Montana. We could see snow covered peaks in the distance. The winds were gusty and at times a little frightening. Tumbleweeds were blowing with abandon. Just east of Billings, MT, the gusts were mighty and one very large tumbleweed blew up across the interstate, swirled and turned to almost hit our windshield. Instead, it tumbled some to the right and, woody stem forward, hit with force against the passenger side mirror. It was frightening, but thankfully it missed the windshield and the passenger window. The clouds gave up their moisture periodically, but the scattered rain was never heavy.

At Billings we pulled off for a comfort stop and decided on a late afternoon Sunday dinner. A Texas Roadhouse sounded the best of the lot there was to choose from and we enjoyed the brake from driving as well as the meal.

Along the way we finished listening to “No Ordinary Time” and switched to “Harry Truman” by David McCullough. Might as well continue on with the story as history wrote it, we thought. We enjoyed Doris Kerns Goodwin so much we thought we might be disappointed with another author. But, McCullough can hold his own. The two are in a comparable league. And, he skillfully writes about Harry Truman; his family; his personality; his times; and his accomplishments in a way that is both informative and engaging. I knew next to nothing about the man before we visited his home in Independence, Missouri two short weeks ago.

Amid the sun and rain, range and mountains, we listened and stopped the narrative to discuss whenever the story warranted, or the spirit moved us.

The miles tumbled away behind us and despite the tumbleweed incident, we made good time, arriving in Livingston, MT by 6:30 p.m. When we finally remembered to inspect the car, we found the force of the tumble weed’s impact had broken the side mirror cover. Thankfully, there was no more extensive damage.

So, just another day of driving; listening; talking; and enjoying each other and the beauty of America’s landscape. What could possibly be more grace-filled than that?

Today was a designated “play day” and we set out to see the Black Hills and poke around the area. It was crispy cold this morning and required my new down jacket . . . for the first time on the trip. Only yesterday it was 86. But this morning it was 39. That’s like summer to winter overnight.

But no matter, we would have fun anyway. The tiny town of Keystone was our first stop. Main street is about two blocks long with tourist shopping on both sides of the street. Because of the time of year, most businesses were closed or “going out of business.” The most interesting vendor was the chainsaw artist who had a whole corner lot full of figures of every size, shape and description. Most notably were bear and buffalo. It was just fun to see the work he could accomplish with a chainsaw.

A return trip to Mount Rushmore required the use of our valuable parking ticket (that’s good for a YEAR!) because we wanted to see the sculptures in the morning light. They seemed so different from yesterday at the end of the day. Still inspiring; still stunning; still magnificent; only today they were mostly in full sun and very cold. The wind ripped through the mountains and felt like it cut right through us. Trees that still had leaves yesterday at 7 p.m. were almost bare this morning; the wind taking them away with every gust.

We were glad we returned as we were able to go into the museum that was closed last night when we were there. We learned more about why these four presidents were chosen by the artist and how he managed to make the pupils of their eyes look so life-like. It was astounding. A small display in the museum showed how he carved different depths of stone to reflect the light differently so each eye would have a look of reality.

Our next stop was Wind Cave where we visited the museum and watched the film because all the tickets to go on cave tours had already been distributed for today. It is a very interesting National Park because it is located at the point where East meets West; where prairie meets mountains. As we drove through the park we could see this was so clearly the case. The mountains of the Black Hills suddenly bowed down to spread out to the prairie. We saw buffalo and hundreds and hundreds of prairie dogs. The prairie dogs are just about the cutest thing around. They beat the buffalo on my charts. As we watched them they skirted around and barked at each other, putting on a show for us.

While talking with several sales people today they all recommended we should go to the Alpine Inn for dinner. So, we drove back to Hill City to check it out. The Alpine Inn opened at 5:00 and everyone said we should get there by 4:30 if we wanted to get in on the first seating. We learned they are a very unique establishment. They take no reservations, so one must wait in the lounge for up to an hour if one wants to get a seat when they open. Only two items are on the menu: a filet steak with baked potato and salad wedge with ranch dressing, or spaetzle with veggies – as a vegetarian option. The only decision a customer is allowed is how they like their steak cooked. It sounded good to us.

We arrived in Hill City at 3:00 and walked the tiny Main Street, looking in some of the art shops filled with Native crafts. At one, my driver found a family of beavers to add to my collection, and at another I could not pass up a pair of boots going for a deeply slashed price. As 4:15 arrived, we walked over to the Alpine Inn and found the lounge almost full. We took one of the last tables. Over the next 45 minutes what seemed like hundreds of people packed into the lounge. Those who were not sitting at the six available tables were standing shoulder to shoulder. It got very hot and loud. I couldn’t believe this could possibly be the most efficient way to manage the guests at a restaurant. We almost got up and left . . . but after waiting for 35 minutes, what was 10 more?

The magic hour arrived and the entire lounge moved toward the one door into the dinning room. No one was rude, but it definitely felt like being swept into a cattle chute. We were escorted to our table and immediately someone came to bring water and ask us if we wanted steak or veggies; and if steak, how we wanted that cooked. She was gone in a flash and the wedge of iceberg lettuce arrived, smothered with their signature Ranch dressing. The steaks followed not long after.

They may not have had the greatest design for reservations, but they did know how to do steak. It was wonderful. We thoroughly enjoyed every bite.

As we left, the lounge was completely packed again with patrons waiting for their seating. We were amazed at the number of folks willing to wait for such a limited menu. But, it was absolutely worth it. And, given the options in town there may not have been a lot of choice in that matter, either.

We stopped along the way back to our room to run the car through a car wash; fill up with gas; and stop at a grocery for some more sparkling water and Pepsi. I spent some time repacking the car and making preparations for the next two days of freeway driving. It was a fun, fun day of playing in place. Tomorrow we make our way in a Bee line to Seattle.

We left the sugar beet aroma of Scottsbluff, NE in the morning sun and headed West and North. Agate Fossil Bed was only about an hour’s drive away. The landscape was dotted with small farms and even smaller towns. The land grew small rolling hills and eventually large rocky crags poked up to our right and left at various points along the drive.

We turned into Agate Fossil Beds and intended to stay for the movie, take a few pictures and move on. Only, the Visitor Center was filled with so many artifacts and information we stayed almost an hour. After learning about the fossils and formations in the rock; the geological layers of sediment and the eras of prehistoric wildlife; as well as the Native Americans who once lived on these lands, we had to go out and take a hike.

The hiking path was nicely maintained and there were warnings to stay on it due to rattle snakes in the vicinity. Thankful we did not see any snakes, we made note of other wildlife, including numerous red ant hills and several black centipedes. At one point along the trail I could hear crickets in stereo. But, one of the most amazing experiences of the hike was the intense silence. Out in the wilds of Nebraska it is quiet like we never hear quiet. We could almost hear our own hearts beating. If breezes blew, we could hear them. If the prairie grasses danced along with the breeze, we could almost hear them. The crickets made the loudest sounds for miles and miles. At one point I stood still for several minutes just absorbing the complete and utter silence. I wish there could have been some way of recording it. But, instead, I can only remember the experience and try to describe it.

When we reached the top of one of the rock formations we could see for miles and miles. And, surprisingly, at the top our cell phones started to bing, informing us that we now had some reception. My driver quickly put in our destination for our next stop so we would have some directions when we got back to the car.

But, most amazing of all, along the hike we saw fossils of where ancient ancestors of the modern beaver had made their homes down into the soil of 19 million years ago. Here we were on this trip, making all these stops to find ancestors of ours, and along the way in Nebraska we also find traces of ancestors of the beaver. These ancient creatures, intent on building homes, burrowed down in a cork screw fashion until they reached an acceptable depth, then spread out to make rooms for their living space. To this day, the “cork screws” of some of their burrowing is fossilized and remains visible.

We marveled at how life changes through the ages and how adaptable we have to be in order to allow life to advance and change into the future. And, not just life, but thought as well. If we can not accept an evolution of thoughts and ideas, how will we ever be able to make the adaptations necessary for life itself to evolve and change? Thrilling conversation occupied us for many miles as we traveled on.

Following our Gypsy (or GPS) we made the appropriate turns and suddenly we had a choice of three possible routes. The one she suggested; one that was eight minutes slower; and one that was 15 minutes slower. We chose the fastest one, because after all, we had places to go and sights to see. We were taken down a beautiful “canyon road” with cotton wood trees in firey yellow along the road. Then suddenly we were on a gravel road. We continued on. What choice did we have now? Not much, as the landscape was dry and barren grazing lands as far as the eye could see. Well, at least it was only eight miles until a turn onto the next road . . . which was also gravel. As was the next . . . and the next. We traveled on 35 miles of Nebraska gravel roads and only met two cars the entire way. But, we did see a lot of cattle, especially these lovely girls with their new earrings shinning in the sun. My driver thought they were wondering if they were going to be in my “mooovie.”

Eventually we found civilization again and were ready to stop at the first possible place for comfort and some food. Reaching the town of Custer, South Dakota didn’t seem to help much. Almost every establishment was “Closed for the Season.” One lonely bar and grill was open, so we gave in and ordered a sandwich simply because we didn’t know what else to do. It was filling, but that was about all. It probably should have been closed as well.

Now, with our brains off our stomachs we could think about Mount Rushmore and visiting the monument in the setting sun. It’s a long and twisty drive to the top, but very beautiful, too. We paid our $10.00 for the privilege of parking (for an entire YEAR) in the parking garage, and walked into the monument.

There are so many, many pictures of this rock with four faces we all recognize, that it seems like it would be passe. But, quite the contrary, we found it stunning and inspiring. We walked out along the “old view point” and remembered when we had first visited as newly weds; when we had brought our children in the ’80’s; and the last time we were here about 10 years ago. Like the evolution of thought, if we are open and supple, there is also an evolution of appreciation and wonder. Today we felt an ever deeper sense of respect for these four great leaders of our country. We stayed until darkness fell and giant flood lights illuminated their faces. It was impressive, even in the darkness.

We found our Comfort Inn on the North side of town and brought our “cup of soups” up to the room for a late night meal. It was perfect dinning after such an adventurous day. From 19 million year old fossils; to Nebraska gravel roads through the free range; to stunning likenesses of four impressive leaders; and spirited conversation; there was enough abounding grace to fill us for days and months to come.

After a good night’s sleep (we even missed breakfast) the day looked bright and felt warm and inviting. It would reach 86 degrees, according to the bank in Gering, NE.

Setting out for Chimney Rock and Scottsbluff, we continued on Highway 20 and, once again listened to “No Ordinary Time.” Along the way we watched the brilliant golden leaves fall from their trees in the gusts of wind. The landscape grew flatter and drier with each passing mile.

Finally the town of Gordon appeared and it was just in time. We needed a comfort stop. There was also a Subway there, so we shared a ham sandwich. When people started flocking into the Subway as we ate, I noticed the clock on the wall said 11:30. By my watch it was 12:30. We had passed a significant marker on the way home: Mountain Time.

Nearing the next sizable town of Alliance, we noticed off the side of the road some strange pile of something. Then we saw the sign: “Carhenge.” My driver pulled into the parking lot and laughing said, “People drive miles and miles just to see this. We have to stop.” And, so we did. It was old cars all arranged to look like Stonehenge.  Someone had a lot of time on their hands and more old cars than they knew what to do with! Hilarious, really!

At 2:30 (DMT) my driver announced we have now officially driven 8,000 miles so far on this trip. Our little Prius has logged 123,134 miles all together. Today her gas mileage went down from 50.1 to 45.8, but we figure she’s still doing pretty good and we can’t complain.

We stopped at Chimney Rock, the pinnacle that excited travelers along the Oregon Trail. The interpretive film said it was the most amazing formation many people going West had ever seen. Little did they know there was more to come.

Scottsbluff would be the next geological formation that would mark their journey. It became known as the gateway to the Rocky Mountains. There are still wagon tracks visible at the base of the bluffs – almost two centuries later. It’s hard to imagine what the people who traveled West had to endure. I knew most of them walked as the wagons carried all their provisions, but having just come from St. Louis, there is no way I could have WALKED that distance. We learned today that over the 20 to 30 years that this trail out West was traveled, over 20,000 people died before they reached their destinations. It’s sobering to think that someone’s ancestors are buried on the prairie, without so much as a small marker to identify their graves. How will their descendants ever find the site where they are buried?

Grateful for our car, and not a covered wagon, we went into town in search of something hot and satisfying for dinner. One person we asked said “There’s an Applebee’s by the highway.” I requested he advise us on some “local color” and that seemed to stump him for a moment. “Well, there is a Mexican place north of town.” We thanked him and went on.

My driver was feeling like Italian food tonight, so he resorted to his phone to search for the possibility. Finding “Sam and Louie’s” just seemed to fit the bill. We angled our way through town until we arrived at a little store front that seemed almost abandoned. Still, there was no where else in town that looked more appealing. So, we took the risk.

Inside, there was not another person in sight, but we waited by the sign that asked us to “Wait to be Seated.” A young man came out of the kitchen and asked if we’d like dinner. “Is it good?” my driver asked. “Well, yeah. I think it’s the best place in town.” Wanting to trust him, we followed him to a booth.

Antipasta salad and a small specialty New York style pizza sounded just about right. When the salad came, we were delighted. It was the best salad we’ve had for 8,000 miles! And, the pizza wasn’t bad either; in fact it was quite delicious. The waitress was cheerful and engaging and I imagined she probably had moved here from New York. We left them a nice tip and complimented them on their fine restaurant, agreeing it probably was the best place in town.

Just a short drive out to the highway and we found our motel. We checked into room 202 and started to relax. Just as I was pulling off my shoes, our door opened and a woman with a shocked look on her face said “Oh! I was just given this room.”

Needless to say, just another chapter in the Nebraska experience. She and my driver went back to the front desk and sorted things out. Seems the desk clerk didn’t remember she had JUST checked us into room 202. The other woman got another room.

Continuing to unwind for the evening, my driver wanted to go back to the car and get some Pepsi to bring up to the room. As he came back he couldn’t get into the room with his key card. Thankfully, I was in the room and let him in; but then I thought: I wonder if my card works. Of course, it didn’t. So, back to the front desk again. The woman didn’t seem to be flustered at all. “Oh, I probably cancelled it out,” she explained. Interesting place, Nebraska.

It was a blessing to have a shorter day of driving after a good night’s sleep; to see the historic spots where over 300,00 to 500,000 pioneers passed on their way toward Westward migration; and to have a delightfully delicious pizza with a truly fresh and crunchy salad for dinner. Sometimes grace is found in the smallest things.

We woke early so we could pick up my Aunt and go to breakfast together before packing the car. That was necessary because once the car was packed there was no room to pick up anything! She was waiting for us and we went to the Hy Vee lunch counter where they make a hot breakfast to order. We all had pancakes and bacon and sat together for one last eucharist before we had to move on along the trail.

Back at her apartment we said our good byes and hugged, knowing it might be a few years before we would see each other again.

We put gas in the car and left Sioux City, crossing over the Missouri River into Nebraska. We got on Highway 20 and didn’t take a turn until we reached our destination in Valentine and the Niobrara River National Park Visitor Center.

It was nothing all day but driving through Nebraska, yet we marveled at the golden and scarlet leaves adorning the trees along the landscape. Since it was just a driving day, we started listening to “No Ordinary Time” by Doris Kerns Goodwin and we are hooked already. She is an excellent writer and helps pass the time.

We arrived at our destination just as it was about to close for the day. Strangely, we felt a little road weary, but soon realized it was not necessarily from the road, but from all the early mornings we had set trying to make room for all our reunions and gatherings with friends and family over the last week.

We quickly looked through the tiny museum at Niobrara and watched their film about the river region and then went directly to our motel. We were checked into a room only to find out it was still being cleaned. My driver went back to the front desk while I waited in the hall with the luggage. He came back with another room assignment only to realize that room was not yet cleaned at all! One more trip to the front desk.

The manager arrived on the floor to determine the problem. She had a few words with the cleaning staff and then informed me, “I’m going to assign you this room again because she’ll be done cleaning in about ten minutes.”

I stood there wondering what I was supposed to do . . . wait here in the hall for ten minutes? My driver came back and said, “I guess we have this room and she’ll be done soon.” It was the oddest experience we’ve ever had at a motel. It was well past 5:30 and they were still cleaning rooms . . . and actually cleaning the room we had just been assigned!

My driver offered to stay with the luggage and suggested I go out for a walk. I needed a walk! So, I went down the main street of Valentine, Nebraska – “The Town with a Heart” – only to find most of the small businesses closing up for the day. With the room finished, my driver joined me on my walk of Main Street and we decided we would just find a place to eat without getting back in the car.

Well, that didn’t happen. We got back in the car and went back to the highway to The Pepper Mill Grill, because as the one person we asked said, “We do beef here.” The Pepper Mill Grill was spacious with lots of tables open and we were shown a booth and given menus.

Before we could even open them the waitress was back to take our order. We conversed a little with her to try and determine what might be best to order. She wasn’t very conversational. “Most people come for the steaks,” she told us matter-of-factly.  Well, ok, since that’s just about all you have on the menu, that would certainly make sense.

We ordered steaks and baked potatoes. After a short wait our plates arrived and we settled in to enjoy our meals. I had just picked up my knife to cut off my first bite of steak when the waitress was back asking “How is everything?” I wanted to say “Hard to tell, since I haven’t even taken a bite yet,” but I refrained. Working as hard as I could I somehow could not cut a piece of my steak. It seemed tougher than it should have been. I finally realized it was the knife that wasn’t working. So, I shared my driver’s knife as his seemed to be working fine.

About five minutes later the waitress was back asking if we wanted dessert. “Well, maybe when we finish dinner,” we answered. She came back shortly with our check and said, “No rush, just whenever you’re ready.” My driver looked up as she walked away and said, “What if I wanted dessert?” We exchanged glances and realized this was seeming a bit like a comedy routine.

After we had leisurely finished our dinner, we decided to share a piece of their signature lemon cake. It sounded so good in the menu description. Finally, the waitress came by and we asked for a piece of cake. She scooped up our check and trotted off. It was becoming very clear “The Town with a Heart” needed a new ad campaign. Our lemon cake came, along with a revised check and we were happy we would be moving on as soon as the morning dawned.

Now, maybe we were just tired and not very receptive. In addition, I was itching all over (and looked like I had chicken pox) due to the tiny stinging beetles that attacked us during our cemetery walk yesterday.  So, we decided we needed to just pack it in and spend some “down time” in our very clean room this evening. That’s what we needed after a day of driving through Nebraska.